Cool breeze on abraded skin
by Thelwell
Summary: When all the craziness dies down, life continues. Bo-centric Slight Jimmy/Bo .


Bo wakes up late.

The alarm had gone off at the right time, of course, but having tossed and turned most of the night it didn't really sink in that the alarm was for, you know, him. He just assumed that any alarm going off at what was (judging by the depth of his grogginess and the lethargic wonderfulness of his bed) clearly not a reasonable time, was obviously not an alarm meant for him.

He is now coming to understand that he was wrong. Not fully understanding, of course, he's still trying to fully comprehend what 'seven-thirty' actually means, and how it's supposed to relate to him, and school, and whatever time it is that school is supposed to start. Is it even a school day?

Apparently.

And it's seven-thirty; school starts at eight, and he has to walk. Because, because? Because there was the thing with the teeth and fur and claws and it left the car (and him) in a state his Dad considered reason to confiscate his keys. Ah. Which gives him - half an hour? - to walk to school. Ah. (In the time it takes him to relate 'seven-thirty' and 'eight' into meaningful quantities, remember subtraction, and apply it, he has to go back to first principles three times and squint fuzzily at the ever-changing clock readout twice. He's not that good at mornings.)

He lies sprawled over his bed, duvet half on the floor, and is one with the mattress. He really could do without today. But it's no good - he shifts and feels the urge to stretch, and once his back clicks in that interesting way it does he'll never fully go back to sleep. So he lazily shifts his weight to the right, misjudges the relationship between center of balance and edge of mattress, flails slightly, and falls out of bed. The flailing brought the duvet with him, and for a moment, trapped in a cushion-y ball of duvet, he puts his forehead to the cold wood floor and groans.

He really could do without today.

But seconds pass inexorably on, marked by the ticking of his rather insolent clock, and illustrated by the dust balls dancing about under his bed, ghosting along on air currents from the fan above. Some of them try to go up his nose, but since it's smushed uncomfortably into the floor, none are successful. Seconds pass by and his mind is steadily cleared of woolliness by the cold floor, squished nose and dull ache in his knee from when he fell.

His thoughts are not happy ones.

Because today he has to go to school.

And it's the first time he's gone to school since the, err, crazy business with the dog and the snapping teeth and Jimmy and the huge bloody great _monster_ that tried to kill him.

But that's not really the issue here.

Because it's also the first time he's gone to school since he came out to Jimmy.

The more he thinks about it, the more adrenaline floods his body and makes him want to run, hide, or punch somebody - _anything_ but go to school today and act normal.

He hasn't told anyone else. He's fairly sure that Jimmy won't tell anyone. Not that Jimmy doesn't have incentive to, but Jimmy's Jimmy, and Bo already bribed him with Brooke for god's sake, so that should be enough to make Jimmy forget any urge for revenge.

It's not that he absolutely positively doesn't want people to know, just that he would appreciate knowing who knew.

He felt remarkably good about telling Jimmy. It was a little anticlimactic, to be sure, and completely eclipsed by the following weirdness, but it was the right time and the right person (aborted kiss aside), and he's finally told someone.

Part of him wishes he hadn't. It's not a terribly big part. But for years now he's been carefully ignoring the suspicions in his own mind: carefully avoiding noticing some things, and carefully fixating on others. It's a relief to give up that turmoil and admit it to himself, but he can't stand that someone else might be thinking of him as gay. He's not gay - he just likes men. He's exactly who he was before, he's not less manly, or less alpha or less normal. No, he's Bo. And knowing that it's the sinewy scrawniness of his fellow guys that arouses him rather than the soft slimness of the girls doesn't make him gay. He doesn't have a problem with being gay, honestly. He doesn't have a problem with gay people. He just never foresaw being one of them. And it means something different, being gay, rather than liking men. He'll admit he likes men. And he'll admit that that makes him gay. But the term 'gay' means far more than 'liking men' in high school, and he's not ready to be that. He's not a fringe group, or a minority. He doesn't need the simpering Gay/Straight Alliance crowd with their overdeveloped sense of discrimination and human rights and the need to love everybody in some weird hippy-ish way. No. He's king of his school, and he won't give that up just because he dreams of cock and not fanny.

So he'd appreciate knowing who knows.

When he knows who knows he can make damn sure to set them straight. If they think he'll soften just because he's started being honest with himself they've got another think coming. He can pin any one of them to the mat, and he won't hesitate to do it.

It would, perhaps, be easier just to tell everybody.

Then he could set them all straight.

Except that, while the urge to defend himself makes him itch to fight people, the idea of _everybody_ knowing just makes him cringe.

He's Bo. And he likes men. And there's nothing shameful about that. Really. But he can't fight the knowledge that some will think that it is, and most will think him a stupid Neanderthal for the basic psychology that made him the hypocritical homophobe before. And he can't fight the knowledge that _everyone_ will treat him differently, whether they have issues with gay people or not. Besides, while he knows, _knows_, there is nothing shameful in it, he can't help feeling less because of it. He's a disappointment now, and while heterosexuality was never really his to begin with, he's lost even the possibility of it and all of its comforting trappings now that he's admitted that it was a façade. He can't, he just can't, let other people see him shameful too. People might be nice, but then again, they might not, and those that are nice will mostly be nice out of pity, and he will not abide pity from those that used to envy him.

So all in all, he'd prefer that people not know.

Which is a problem.

Because he can't pretend that nothing's changed. Pandora's Box has been opened, and nothing will shove the knowledge back in. How is he supposed to go on avoiding noticing the all-consuming things (the line of Jimmy's back, the lightly-haired length of his forearm, the precise timbre of his voice), and pretend to notice the others (breasts, hips, legs, the usual) at the same time? How is he supposed to ignore the way his body reacts to certain stimuli when his mind, newly-confessed, is busy trying to catalogue and explore it? How, when confronted by Brooke and her crowd, is he meant to imply enough disinterest to make it clear that he broke up with _her_, but enough lust to be a teenage boy who likes girls?

And god oh god, what the hell is he going to do about Jimmy? He can tell the guys to ignore him, he supposes, but considering how Jimmy threw him through the air the other day, and considering Brooke, that's pretty much not gonna happen. He could tacitly include Jimmy in the in-crowd, of course, but Jimmy's gone all alpha dog now, and when Bo's around him he feels utterly omega. The guys are his, or were, but he can't lead them as an omega, so how does that all come out in the wash?

So he doesn't know what he's doing. He's pretty much gonna have to wing it.

Maybe if he milks his injuries he'll get some space. He can claim any odd moments on the painkillers, pretend to focus on school work, avoid the spotlight a little. He reckons Jimmy'll be helping him out there, coz Jimmy's gonna be getting some serious attention from all the groups. Gay/Straight Alliance'll probably even be disappointed by the whole Brooke angle. Serve them right, the self-righteous windbags. Just a little space, that's all he needs; a day or two, just enough that he can figure out his new mask. Figure out how to seem straight when you know you like guys, instead of just suspecting it.

Okay, so he has a game plan: walk in, act the same, keep head down when possible. Jimmy's less of a fairy than he thought - anyone who can throw _him_ of all people is at least better than Carl, that dolt, so the guys can at least leave him at 'invisible no-nothing' level even if they actively won't have him in their group. The break-up with Brooke is reasonably easy to explain. She was being a prude and a cock tease, and he can do better, so he dumped her. She ran straight to Jimmy, who, as a (still slightly effeminate) softie is all very perfect to play Prince Charming. He feels a little bad about Brooke, she was a good girlfriend, but he'll get over it. He's not exactly gonna be saying it to her face, anyway, and all the girls will be taken with her new lapdog, and at least the guys won't think she's a slut. So yes, everything's sorted.

Now all he has to do is actually do it all.

Starting with getting up off the floor.

Which is far more difficult than it should be. After finally (finally!) untangling himself from the duvet and bed, he stumbles towards the bathroom, balance shot to hell, and narrowly avoids tripping over those piles of papers and clothes on the floor that he isn't able to just walk all over.

The bathroom comes as a nasty shock (there's a clock in there), and he ends up brushing his teeth and pissing but eschewing the shower. He's fully awake now, and a tad rushed, so he returns to his bedroom at a run and stubs his toe on the chemistry textbook that failed to trip him up the first time. His watch goes on first, and he grimaces at the time, and the underpants and jeans and t-shirt swiftly follow. He hops around putting on socks, locates his iPod, and exits the room in a flying leap that clears the floor-level debris. He's halfway thumping down the stairs when he remembers that the debris included the offending chemistry textbook, so he thunders back along the upstairs hallway to his room, grabs the book, and is soon thundering down the last of the stairs.

His parents have already left for work, but his mother left some bagels and muffins out, and he knows there's milk and cereal with his name on it. There's no time though - he's gonna have to run anyway - so after a longing glance at the kitchen he goes to locate his shoes and backpack. He's grateful to see that both are exactly where he left them - school bag slumped near the bottom of the stairs, innards trailing like intestines; one shoe to the left of the front door mat, the other ten feet back down the hall, half under the radiator. His parents have been busy recently, which explains why they've actually managed to abide by their own rules ("If you won't pick them up right now then I'm certainly not clearing up after you") for once, rather than cracking and cleaning them up anyway ("because the house is a right state and I don't want to have to keep tripping over your blasted shoes!"). It's stupid, anyway. Yeah, sure, it's clutter, he can see that, but the reason he shed them there was because it's, you know, the front door, which is exactly the place he'll be looking for them when he next needs them, so why not just leave them there? (The shoe under the radiator is an anomaly. Normally, when he throws the second shoe off, it only travels a foot or so. He'd been rather impressed by last night's trajectory.)

And he's out the door, slinging on his backpack as he goes.

He reaches the end of the front path in one second flat and breaks into a fast jog as he turns onto the street, thinking lovingly of his (dammit) garage-bound car.

The sidewalk is hard, he's running on adrenaline, and his body really hasn't had as much time to wake up as his mind. His feet hit the sidewalk hard each time, a jarring thud rather than a satisfying thump. His backpack is awkward when he runs, and he's just remembered that he has a French test today. Well, it's the least of his problems. He can't even remember if he actually put the damn chemistry textbook in the bag in the end, or if he left it on the bottom stair while he was putting on his shoes. It doesn't really matter, but it's one more thing to be stressed about. Why couldn't it be a holiday today, or the school plumbing break, or something? All of this is really not helping.

He's nervous, and he's trying not to be. He's hungry, and the empty stomach and jogging makes the slightly queasy feeling worse. He's suddenly absolutely adamant that he cannot and will not see Jimmy; please God, no Jimmy today. But they have three classes together so that's a false prayer.

Failing that, he prays that Jimmy is looking as bad as he is, or worse. That's not such an impossible prayer, is it? The guy's just recovering from the whole rabid-things-with-jaws affair, same as him - surely it must have been worse for Jimmy, who was in the thick of it? Except that Jimmy's all alpha at the moment; all confident, and capable, and extra-strong, and probably extra-resilient too. Jimmy's probably still glowing from the way things turned out with Brooke, as well. God, the two of them all over each other... and even if Jimmy _does_ look bad, he'll just be all tousled and warm and begging to be touched.

Shit.

The game plan is totally not gonna work.

Shit, shit, shit.

He briefly considers turning straight back around again, but he's too confused to think of a good excuse for being late and too confused to think of where to go, and really too confused to make any decision at all at the moment. So he follows his feet. There's a fair amount of traffic, but he's not run over, which can only be a good thing. He's so relieved to see the school buildings (in conjunction with the time '7:53' on his watch) that he almost forgets to stop jogging. Some idiot girl trailing friends behind her with a loud recount of gossip gets in his way though, so that's okay.

He pats down his hair and wipes away sweat from his face as he joins the trudging crowd entering the building. His heart's still pumping like mad, but he's in good shape and he's not breathing too heavily. His heartbeat doesn't slow though. He can hear it in his head, feel it in his fingers and in his empty, fluttering belly. He clenches his fingers and tries to ignore the wafting smells of breakfast that other students brought with them. The food smells make his stomach rumble, but the overpowering scent of coffee just makes him want to vomit.

He's grateful that he hasn't seen any close friends yet, anybody who might try to strike up a conversation, because he can't think what he would say. His mouth is dry and he feels a little shell-shocked, and he can't stop the odd shiver that keeps wanting to break out all over. The corridors are a little bit too crowded, a little bit too noisy, a little bit too hectic. He's probably hunched over and looking mousy, and he hopes to god that that little movement he made when that guy came up from behind him wasn't a flinch. That he jumps three feet in the air whenever anyone shouts unexpectedly near him is beyond denial. And they do it a lot - people are only just starting to head to class.

He can't believe that despite all the worries and fears and "oh God what am I going to do about"s that he's been torturing himself with for the past 24 hours that he forgot the most basic problem. He's fucking terrified. This isn't him. He's not terrified, he's bravado and swagger and backed up by twenty guys. But it is him. He's terrified and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

He told someone. He told someone! What in the hell was he thinking? He said the unthinkable out loud and it doesn't matter if Jimmy wouldn't tell anyone because it's like emails and cyberspace - he's said the words out loud, he's said them to somebody, and now the truth is out in the world he can never control it, never get it back, irretrievable. They'll know, they'll all know. They probably already know. Maybe they knew before, but the same magic words that made it real for him has made it real for them as well. He feels like a dragon bereft of treasure - his hated, uncomfortable, sharp, metallic secret is out in the world and it's his secret, god-dammit, but now it's being used against him.

He feels tiny, notices each and every person taller or wider or heavier than him like never before. Even those smaller than him are dangerous, less likely to be able to look over him, forced to look at him, forced to see the gay boy walking. He's shameful and he's scared and this is so not fair and you know what? Screw that.

He's gonna be okay. He's Bo, god-dammit. He may be a little omega-ish when Jimmy's around, but to be fair, Jimmy has the whole jaws-of-hell thing going for him, and besides, he's a little bit hot. But the rest of the school? What, he's gonna cower from Meghan Farley, the fat girl from French? Because she's bigger than him? Screw that.

He feels bare and abraded and exposed for all to see, but he's still Bo, god-dammit, and he's still better than anyone in this damn corridor. They can get out of his way, because he could pin any one of them to the mat without breaking a sweat. And yeah, so what that he's wearing his deepest, darkest, shameful secret for all to see? He may be a damn fai... - he shrinks from the word - a damn gay guy, but he's still worth ten of them.

He's walking straighter and his heart beat has returned to normal, but he's still tense as ever. He's ready to fight, not cower. It doesn't solve the dryness in his mouth, but he can get over that. He's exactly who he was before, king of the school, no less manly and no less an alpha. And as long as he keeps telling himself that, he'll be cool.

But, oh, the school is definitely not what it was before. The people may be beneath him but the walls are closer. Everything's a bit noisier and a bit more colourful. He can almost see the invisible bubble all around him. It marks him out, shows him worthy of mockery, stops him from melting into the crowd, but won't stop anything bad from shooting him through the heart. He's feeling just a bit too sensitive, and he may have his swagger and his bravado back, but it's only on the surface. He's coasting over the school, pretending, and he doesn't own the corridor the way he used to.

His initial reaction to reaching his classroom is one of sheer unadulterated panic. He can feel his heart jump. The corridor may be too loud, but the classroom will be too quiet. From the claustrophobic bustling (but at least anonymity and freedom) of the crowd, to the claustrophobic quiet of a small room filled by people he sees every day, trapped. Oh dear.

But he's Bo. So he strolls through the doorway regardless, without hesitation, wanders to his desk, and plonks himself down with oddly shambolic aplomb. The people already sitting around don't immediately point and laugh, they don't even really notice him, except for a few that greet him like normal. So far, so good. He really should have gone to his locker, but his friends would have been hanging around there, so he didn't. He doesn't mind carrying the extra weight; he can go switch things after class. That is, if he isn't a human piñata by that point, of course.

He looks up at the clock. Okay. Six hours. He can do this. The first day of his homosexual life. He grimaces. Yeah, another term he's not gonna hurry to use in self-reference any time soon. A few stragglers scurry into the classroom. Dave and Mike start a paper war, throwing balls of paper into the trash can by the door to see who can get it in the most. One bounces off Katie as she walks through the door unexpectedly. The resulting laughter and apologies go a little way towards reassuring him. Because this is every morning, and why should sexual orientation effect how he deals with these guys he's grown up with? He sees them every morning, rain or shine, when they're well or coming down with something and when they haven't slept all night. He knows these people, he has a place here. And this business really shouldn't change all that.

Except, of course, it does. He's on the other side of the divide now. And when Mary storms in muttering about how everything is going wrong for her at the moment and how everything's "so gay" he can't help but flinch. He'll repress that instinct better, next time.

Jimmy wanders slowly past in the corridor, hampered by the corridor crush.

He looks... normal. Less confident the last time Bo saw him, less alpha; a little nervous, even. Maybe he's having as much trouble returning to normal in his different-from-before state as Bo is. That's not really a good thing, but Bo appreciates the similarity, even if what Jimmy's going through isn't even in the same galaxy as this horrible nakedness that Bo's got going on. Jimmy has so much power over Bo, and, in that horrible residual alpha-ness, it doesn't even feel wrong that he should. Just, you know, terrifying.

Jimmy notices Bo, of course, and for an exceedingly awkward moment they look at each other. Bo is tempted to look away, but the problem is, he told Jimmy, and now Jimmy holds his secret. The wolf-thing doesn't even count as a reciprocal secret, not that anyone would believe him if it was. Now he's bound to Jimmy (as though attraction wasn't enough...), and Jimmy is bound to him. He freed himself from denial, when he tried to kiss Jimmy, but he also tied himself to Jimmy. Jimmy knows his secret, Jimmy knows Bo likes him, and even decades from now, Jimmy will be the first guy he fell for, the first guy he told, the first guy he tried to kiss. He'll never be free of him (not that he wants to be, most of the time), but right now, Jimmy looking at him and him looking at Jimmy and - please oh please let no one be noticing - he thinks that he almost preferred the shackles of before.

He was tied by denial and self-loathing before, and that was bad, but at least in company he was a little more free. He wasn't free to look or act or speak honestly, because he was desperately not thinking about what that honesty might be, but his façade was an ingrained part of him. He could live through it. As long as no one, not even he, truly knew it was a façade, it was real enough. His secret was safe, and he was free.

Now he's tied. Oh, he's freed from a little of the fear and most of the denial, but he's still not free to look or act or speak honestly. If he did, everyone would treat him differently (at best), and he's definitely not ready for that. His façade has been ripped away, and he's desperately trying to hold the strands together so that no one will see. It's not part of him any more. It's an ancient relic he's saddled with, and it doesn't fit him right. The distance between him and the Bo the world sees is greater, so he notices the restrictions more. He can't live through it; he can only live up to it. Besides, his secret is out. Jimmy may not tell anyone, and maybe no one will guess, but eventually the truth will out, like a knife hanging over his head, ready to drop at any time without warning. He's tied to Jimmy by the truth, and to Brooke, because she's not stupid, and there's a suspicion of truth there too. What good is accepting the truth if he has to pretend exactly as before? What good has it done him but to make him more aware of his shackles, different though they are?

But Jimmy smiles - a small, hesitant, hopeful smile, and maybe that's okay. He's not really free, but some of the chains are ones he'll gladly bear. A small shock thrills through him, because Jimmy's never smiled at him like that before, and it looks good on him. Even better, it's directed at Bo, just at Bo, just for Bo. And Bo's skin feels terribly terribly thin, as though it's not really there, as Jimmy passes on down the corridor. He feels flayed alive, and the frisson of desire and the frisson of fear are one and

the same in the aftermath of Jimmy's smile. He hates Jimmy again, for just a second, for having this power over him, but he can't deny that he delights in it too. He's nervous, and he's scared, and he'll never really be free, but maybe the delicious feeling that comes from Jimmy being happy to see him will make it worth it in the end.

The teacher comes in and the corridor begins to empty as the bell rings. The class starts. It turns out that he did leave his chemistry textbook at home, but that's cool, he can share. He's still shaky, and he's sure that he's probably a good deal paler than he should be, but what the hell, maybe it suits him. His skin still feels over-sensitive, and he jumps when the teacher calls on him, but then, he wasn't really paying attention so he would have jumped anyway. He's Bo, and sometimes Jimmy smiles at him. He's got a gang of friends, he's got wrestling, and he's certainly not the thickest guy in class. He flatters himself that he's good-looking, he's in good shape, and his favourite show is on TV tonight.

He's Bo, and sometimes Jimmy smiles at him - he'll be okay.


End file.
